


I like you

by Frehior



Category: Bleach
Genre: Gen, M/M, Other, They fight and there's confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 20:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frehior/pseuds/Frehior
Summary: ‘I like you.’ Those words make no sense, and held no meaning to him. It doesn’t make it less puzzling to Ulquiorra, though. And Grimmjow’s actions just confuse him more. However, it’s in his assumptions the Sexta should be the one to be able to answer him. There are words, and explanations, but it still makes no sense why someone who despises him so much, says that to him./ This can be taken as common interaction/romantic/anything else. Minor violence.





	I like you

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize beforehand for any mistakes in spelling or grammar. Or for any OCC-ness I might have written.

 

Ulquiorra watched as Grimmjow laid on the floor, breathing heavily as his chest rose and fell. The Sexta Espada was covered in various cuts, some of them bleeding and some of them being nothing but superficial, and a particularly deep cut that had been made to his right arm made the blood drench his white tattered clothes, the red smearing down to the floor and pooling. He remained there, unmoving, his labored breath the only thing that made Ulquiorra think the Sexta could still move, could still stand up and keep fighting, until his body gave out on him.

 

Which is why he held his sword in front of him, in case Grimmjow still wanted more. He couldn't help but despise Grimmjow's way to fight. He would always push himself to the limit, and fight without a care of his physical being, albeit there was a noticeable attempt to avoid losing a limb— of course, if he had to risk one to protect a vital part, he undoubtedly did so. That's at least, how Grimmjow used to fight Ulquiorra. He'd fight and be rendered numb, he'd sustain enough damage to find it hard to move. But even in those cases, he kept fighting, kept standing and kept helding his head high, his fingers around Pantera's hilt and a grin that showed he would still keep going.

 

If Grimmjow fought against other Espadas like this, he ignored it. What he did not ignore, or rather what he couldn't, was how Grimmjow seemed adamant to fight him whenever Aizen's presence left Las Noches. It wasn't a bother to him, but it wasn't exactly an experience he was looking forward to.

 

And just like always, all it took from him was just one hand. One hand to force the Espada down; with just one hand he could take care of Grimmjow. He looked at his hand, that carefully held Murciélago. He huffed to himself, disdain in his eyes. He had to congratulate the Sexta's power by now, he noted. It was their fourth fight were he was forced to take out his sword. At first, Ulquiorra thought of it as mere luck, thought Grimmjow's annoyance had cut his temper short and had forced him to get rid of him quickly, but by now he understood he had to use Murciélago if he wanted to leave the fight unharmed. He slipped his right hand out of his pocket, and stared at the now dry blood on his palm. Grimmjow had cut through skin, back when Ulquiorra had stopped Pantera's advances. By now the cut he had gained had healed, and there was nothing but a small scar to remind him of this, which would dissapear in no time.

 

Grimmjow's laugh made him return his attention to the hurt man. It was clear he was in pain, but nonetheless the Espada kept laughing. Ulquiorra walked to Grimmjow, changing the place of his sword as he did so to get a better grip. It stayed as an unknown truth, but he could cause more harm with his right hand than his left one.

 

The blue haired man's laugh died as soon as Ulquiorra pressed Murciélago against the exposed throat. And Grimmjow, thoughtless and sturdy bastard he was who had pushed his body to the limits, couldn't even raise his hand to oppose Ulquiorra's wishes. If Ulquiorra wished to do so, he could take Grimmjow's life with little to no effort. Although he could always use a cero, instead of blemishing Murciélago's blade with such trash's blood.

 

"Do you even fear death, Grimmjow?" The Cuarta inquired, truly wanting to know Grimmjow's answer, wanting to understand the Sexta's reasons to keep fighting him.

 

The blue, confused eyes stared up at him. "Fear it?" A wide toothy grin made the teeth of his Hollow mask part. "Who doesn't? But isn't the battle more thrilling when you think of it? Knowing any time you could be gone. Makes you give it yer all."

 

"Makes you a fool, that's what it makes you." Ulquiorra told him, bothered by how the other thought. If one's life was on peril any time a battle started, then why would Grimmjow willingly seek out fights? Moreover, what did he think his life was? He owed it to Aizen.

 

"A fool…" Grimmjow repeated, the look on his eyes glazed, as if he had lost himself to the word, trying to find the meaning of it.

 

"Exactly what I say."

 

And suddenly Grimmjow was laughing, and his left hand was placed on his chest, his fingers clutching the damaged skin. Ulquiorra couldn't make sense of it, of the Sexta's puzzling behavior. He undoubtedly was a fool, laughing in death's face like it was no serious matter. To prove further his point he pressed his blade a bit against the skin, a small drop of blood pooling against the metal.

 

"Gee, you're killing me here, Ulquiorra." Said Grimmjow in between laugh and pained coughs. "Honestly I can't…", his laugh dying steadily, he let his hand slip back against the floor, and his arm throbbed painfully for forcing himself to the action.

 

"I truly can't grasp your behavior."

 

If he didn't feel as dizzy as he did, with the blood rushing to his hears, Grimmjow would have sworn there was bitterness in the Cuarta's tone. Instead, he only met those green eyes, offering a small amused smile.

 

"I like you." Grimmjow rasped out, holding the Cuarta's gaze before staring up at the ceiling. "I so fucking like you."

 

Ulquiorra's lips pressed to a tight line, to the point his upper black lip wasn't even noticeable. He couldn't stand him, couldn't fathom the day the Sexta Espada would stop being so annoying. How could he said such things? Say things that made absolutely no sense? If he was a being that lacked many things, with the most prominent one being emotions, it was Grimmjow Jaegerjaques who could provoke him, make him feel things he shouldn't even be feeling.

 

His blade rose, and he thought, for a split second, that a missing spot between the Espadas wouldn't hurt too much, because their Lord could always create more powerful Espadas. He shouldn't feel it, shouldn't even be taking delight the way Grimmjow's eyes widened and the way he gritted his teeth, his brows knitting in pain.

 

" _SHIT!_ What's your… SHIT!" It was pained, and breathless, and his eyes screwed shut as he panted heavily, the pain shooting from his shoulder to his body.

 

"You say senseless words, Grimmjow." Ulquiorra spoke, unfazed by the way Grimmjow alternated between keeping his teeth pressed together and opening his mouth to take deep breaths.

 

A pained wheeze left the Espada laying on the floor, and he threw his head back, hand taking Murciélago and trying to push the blade out of himself. "Take this shit out! It hurts, you asshole!"

 

 _I like you_ … Grimmjow had uttered those words, but Ulquiorra couldn't make sense of them. He couldn't understand what it meant, not the way he could understand what anger was, what delight was, or what boredom was, which were emotions he was more familiar with.  _Liking_  something, he could get, somewhat. One liked what was useful, what could help you. But to  _like a person_ , or in this case, an Espada…? He couldn't grasp around at the idea, couldn't begin to comprehend it. It was an emotion far too complex for him to analyze, make sense of it, and understand. No matter how much he was trying now.

 

"You don't make sense, Grimmjow." Ulquiorra informed his companion, who just gave him a wild, pained look.

 

"What in the fuck is making no sense?! It hurts! So dislodge it already!" Grimmjow growled, fingers trying harder to take out the sword that had cut through him.

 

The Cuarta blinked, and easily slipped the blade out, cutting Grimmjow in the process. The blood came forward almost instantly, and the Sexta's bloody hand pressed hard against the wound. "I was talking about your…  _liking._ "

 

It was odd, the way the word felt in his mouth, but that didn't stop his questioning thoughts around the word.

 

"You're awful at reciprocating emotions, dipshit."

 

In spite of the offending term used toward him, Ulquiorra didn't retaliate. His mind was far too focused on trying to understand this presented to him. And if Grimmjow had spoken those words aloud, it was because he could understand that emotion, right?

 

"Explain to me what you meant by saying that."

 

Blue eyes narrowed on him, and the curl on the man's lips only served to accentuate the dislike for such idea. "Like hell I will."

 

This time, he remained calm, still, with no emotion showing. No frustration nor anger. He was just… waiting. "I believe you can live if I completely main your right arm."

 

There was a groan, and a look that could kill, but nonetheless Grimmjow complied, "I said I like you, what's so hard to understand?"

 

"Everything about it."

 

Grimmjow closed his eyes, and felt the faintest of pink cover his cheeks. Did he really have to explain such basic things to the Cuarta? Of course he did. Last thing he wanted was for him to get information from someone else, and completely misunderstand the meaning of his words. Like hell he'd be humiliated if the words were taken in the wrong way.

 

"It means what I said, Ulquiorra." He answered tiredly, the ache of his body taking a tool on his mind. He needed to rest, and heal his wounds so he could once again go against the Cuarta, and cause further damage to such frail looking body. "I like you. To me, it means I… umh, I'm fond of you?" One of his eyes cracked open, to see if the Cuarta followed.

 

Alas, such empty emotion could only tell him so much. But even so, he knew the Cuarta couldn't properly understand him. Not that he himself could. How did one explained  _liking_? For someone with little to no information about emotions, about feelings… what could Grimmjow say to convey what he meant?

 

"Listen, I'm no expert on this… feeling emotions bullshit, m'kay?" He said, beginning to feel frustrated. "So I haven't got no proper words, mind ya. And if you dare tell a soul 'bout this… I'll make sure to make ya regret it…"

 

"You haven't answered me."

 

"Give me a damn fucking break! When I said I liked you, it was because you gave such thrill to our battles! With who else can I spar with if not you? I feel really uncomfortable with the others."

 

Still, Ulquiorra couldn't quite make sense of it. He found himself suddenly confused by the fact Grimmjow considered their fights as simply sparring. Did the Sexta really fought him with that thought in battle? Thrill… was the Sexta thrilled because he knew Ulquiorra could dispose of him any time he wanted? Was that it? But then, wouldn't Harribel be more suited to it? Even Nnoitra would suffice for him. Did liking him meant he'd rather pick Ulquiorra as an opponent? Senseless, meaningless things emotions were. Grimmjow's low laugh brought him back to his senses, and he opened his mouth to mirror his thoughts with his words. However, he was beat to it.

 

"It doesn't have to make sense, ya kno'? It should just…  _be_. I like  _you_ , Ulquiorra, 'coz I can give it my all and know that if I lose and come back, ya'll keep fighting against me." Grimmjow slowly explained, his head turned to the side, as if he was avoiding to look at the Cuarta. "I like ya 'coz I know that if I were to keep this shit up with any other, I wouldn't be having all my limbs by now, 'coz you're a damn bastard who I can—"

 

Silence. Silence followed Grimmjow's sudden way to end his words. So Ulquiorra waited. Perhaps the Sexta was trying to organize his ideas. Which was fine, because it gave Ulquiorra to organize his. It seemed hard to fully understand, but Ulquiorra guessed he understood a bit more. Grimmjow liked him, and by liking he meant he could ' _spar'_  to his heart's content, without the fear of dying? It seemed like that, to him.

 

"I'm a damn bastard who you can what, exactly?" He questioned after noticing the other wouldn't be speaking up by his own. Blue eyes turned to meet his, and he could see how harsh they were, how there was a distinctive look that made him feel something akin to excitement. It certainly was a look he didn't see often in Grimmjow. It was a serious one, hardened by one's resolve, one that told him the Sexta's decision had been made, without a doubt. It was  _serious. "So?"_

 

The fact he was on the receiving end of such look, after a small discussion of what seemed personal matters, only made him want to break Grimmjow's resolve. Perhaps the ways of the Sexta was rubbing on him.

 

"If I tell ya… ya promise to keep this routine up? Spar with me, I mean?" All he got after a second or two, was a small, measured nod, as if Ulquiorra had weighted his options and had in the end considered it okay for them to keep this up. Not wanting to look any more than necessary to those big green eyes, he let his head fall to his side, and his eyes close. "Who I can… look up to, I guess. It's a shitty way to put it. But I guess I despise you as much as I like you." Grimmjow said, and he couldn't help himself frowning.

 

This was never in his plans, to speak out loud his thoughts. To make himself sound so weak, so stupid. The only reason he "looked up" to the Cuarta was because he had begun to despise him with all his being, and he had to admit to himself, in his most private moment and thoughts, how aware he was about the gap power between them. Of course the Cuarta's infuriating, empty, presence had pushed him to seek fights against him, in spite of the hard facts he knew. But it was all the more reason he had to keep growing, and keep becoming stronger. And with each step he gave towards a bigger power, he tried the Cuarta, and he tried himself. And he could feel it, the gap closing little by little. If the way he had forced Ulquiorra to use Murciélago wasn't a sign, he didn't knew what it was. But he would strive for better, to make him fight using both hands, using his full ability, and force him to enter completely in the fight, for fear of losing against Grimmjow. That was his short-term goal. If becoming King was obstructed by Aizen's abhorrent presence, he'd take conformity in this, for now. That's why he liked Ulquiorra, because it had been his loathsome presence that had pushed him to strive for better.

 

"You still make no sense to me, Grimmjow."

 

The Sexta's lips formed a small smirk, and he silently cussed at the Cuarta's lack of understanding to emotions, to things he couldn't see nor grasp. But maybe it was the same way he lacked understanding in that, that made it easier for him to speak up, not fearing any humiliating words, or venomous words, meant to offend him and mock him.

 

"It matters not. Just take it as I've said. I like ya, in a way. Lets say that without ya around Las Noches, things would be more shitty."

 

"It's not a satisfying answer, nor a logical one."

 

To hell with feeling embarrassed. Grimmjow glared daggers at the Cuarta, because part of him thought Ulquiorra was wearing a mocking smile, holding his laughter because Grimmjow kept falling for it, kept telling more. He found only a slightly curious gaze.

 

"Ya should ask yer precious Aizen to fucking explain thing ta' ya." And there it was, the minimal movement to those brows that indicated a frown, so Grimmjow covered his offense, not feeling like receiving more deep wounds, "I mean, I fucking despise you so much, Ulquiorra. No other Espada makes my blood boil like you do!" He gushed, feeling his temper rise. Because lord help him, Ulquiorra was someone he couldn't even stand, mostly for his blind loyalty and unnerving way of being, "I want to gut you out so damn much, and make you writhe under my sword to the point you fucking  _beg me_  to kill you! That's what I want." He inhaled deeply, ignoring the way his chest ached at the action, then he allowed himself an amused grin. "If that means I ought to become more powerful, and keep trying, so be it! But hear me out: I'll one day be the one to hold all of Hueco Mundo under my command. And I bet you Imma be laughing over your grave."

 

Ulquiorra tried, hard, to understand those words. Try and give it a meaning to the words that had aroused such discussion. It was still hard to comprehend, but he guessed that's how things should be. Because understanding emotions wasn't even in himself, the only reason he understood a few was because he had seen them, time after time, on others. So he guessed he should just keep watching Grimmjow, just to see if he could understand what liking was, and what did it mean. If that meant he'd have to keep fighting him whenever Aizen left, then he might as well take his time to do so. He sheathed back Murciélago, not worrying about the blood. He'd later clean it. His eyes fixated at the palm of his hand, and he wondered how stronger would Grimmjow get. The Sexta was increasingly becoming better and better, he had to recognize. And he thought that maybe, one day they'd have a fight were one wouldn't make it out. If Grimmjow's desires where as stated, he couldn't fall behind. His fingers curled, and he looked at Grimmjow's body, covered in blood and cuts. He knew this fight would only help the Sexta, would make him stronger and more decided to fulfill his goal of "gutting him out".

 

"It still puzzles me. But I won't insist more today, Grimmjow."

 

"Is that supposed to make me feel any better, mmh?"

 

Ulquiorra shook his head. "Not at all. Take is as a warning." Because if Grimmjow could grow stronger, so could he. He'd attain more power, and he'd use it to protect that which Aizen seemed worthy. He'd use it to see Grimmjow wouldn't be the one to command Hueco Mundo. "So go on, keep liking me. See for yourself if you ever get to reach  _me_."

 

Grimmjow sneered at that, offended by the apparent taunt. "Oh, fucking mark my words, I will. And you'll fear me!" Grimmjow roared, convinced by his own words.

 

Ulquiorra didn't say any more, and left the Sexta's bloody body where it was. He wouldn't mind it if he bleed to death, or if he was found by some other Espada or Arrancar, who would take it as an opportunity to give Grimmjow the finishing blow and occupy his position. It wasn't something he worried about, at all. For one, he didn't care for the other's well-being, and of course, because if the serious look Grimmjow had given him meant something, anything, the Sexta wouldn't die just yet. He'd grow, and they'd cross blades again, they would fight and they would try out how much each had grown.


End file.
